Plasticity
by Arastas
Summary: Together, they'll form something glorious, something bloody and beautiful and broken. Series of 100-word Jenny/Julian drabbles.
1. Control

**All right, it's time for an author's note that's longer than the drabble. Forbidden Game might be my favorite LJS series, at least right now. I ADORE Jenny/Julian, although I confess I still haven't finished _The Kill_- I hate the ending so much that I'm boycotting it. (I'm also boycotting several restaurants, two beaches, and a gas station, but that's beside the point.) So lately I've found myself unable to sleep (big surprise) and I've been getting up and writing (shocker). ...Writing FG Jenny/Julian drabbles. And trimming them to one hundred words each. Hence this story. Enjoy! (:**

**Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. Not even the unicorn L.J. poses with.**

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She loves him nearly as much as she hates him, which is saying something. The two war within her, almost but never quite merging into one. The line grows thinner, and some days she can't tell what she feels. That scares her—she's always liked to be in control, especially when it comes to her own emotions. Whenever he's involved, though, her mind instantly transforms from logically compartmentalized to whirling light and color, a spinning mess of sound and images and things she'd rather not admit to feeling. He ruins her carefully cultivated composure, and she resents him for it.


	2. Surrender

Sometimes she wants nothing more than to shudder delicately and fall into his waiting arms, to relinquish all control and yield to the overwhelming intoxication of his presence. The mere thought of him undoes her; she melts at the sight of him, swoons to hear his voice. And that look in his eyes just makes her want to run to him… But she can't. Because that would be giving up, letting him win, and as much as she wants him, she simply doesn't _do_ surrender. She's stronger than that, morally. So she'll keep fighting, even if it kills them both.

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_Everything belongs to the wonderful L.J. Smith, not me._


	3. Willpower

She's a candle flame to him, a brilliant pinpoint of light in his sea of eternal darkness. She is a beacon, a lighthouse, a place of warmth and safety and hope. But there's wind in his night-black abyss, and even the brightest of flames will begin to flicker. He's frantic with worry, watching her sputter and crackle against a wind-torn ebon backdrop. But she refuses his help; she'll burn or burn out on her own, thank you. And so he steps back and wrings his hands as his determined little candle burns on steadily, buffeted and storm-tossed, but never dying.

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_Disclaimer: Everything belongs to L.J. Smith, no copyright infringement intended, etc., etc._


	4. Contrast

She's too bright for this world. Too good, too beautiful, too much. They don't deserve her here, he thinks, don't know how to appreciate her properly. She stands out, yes, glimmering among so many rusted and tarnished, but she'll shine even brighter in the darkness, with nothing to distract from her light. he knows they'll be striking: his black to her gold; beautiful opposites joining, melding, wining about one another to create an infinitely shimmering helix of velvety darkness and silky sunlight. Together, they'll form something glorious, something bloody and beautiful and broken, something hopelessly dazzling, radiating midnight and sunshine.

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**I own nothing aside from my copy of FG. And an assortment of other books, but that's beside the point.**


	5. Desperation

Whether she's loving him or hating him, it's always fiercely, always passionately, always with a frightening intensity. She wants to fly into his arms and let him kiss her senseless, to drown in his embrace and lose herself in white-hot ecstasy. Then she wants to burn him alive, wants him to feel her rage, her fury, her hurt. She wants to swing punches, to claw his eyes out, to fight him tooth and nail until there's nothing to do but start kissing him again. Either way, she always ends up in his arms, and pain always turns into scalding joy.

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_Disclaimer: Alas, I own nothing except the books themselves._


	6. Addiction

_I, dear readers, am a terrible person. I have not updated this in FOREVER when I had like four of these sitting around in my journal. I feel awful. So with the addition of these new chapters, I'd also like to thank everyone who's reviewed this story. You're all amazing, and reading your comments continues to make me so, so happy. (:  
**I own nothing. **_

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It's more than desire, more than love. He _needs_ her. Requires her. Has to have her before his whole world goes black. he doesn't want her; he _craves_ her. Aches for her, yearns for her, whenever they're apart. She's more than a habit; she's his existence. Without her he can't function, doesn't matter. _Being_ ceases to seem important without her. But she can never know. If she ever realizes just how essential she is to him, she'll see herself as toxic, something to be avoided. Worse still, she'll try to cure him, removing herself permanently and crippling him for eternity.


	7. Hope

She no longer has any hope for the future. He _is_ her future: permanent, omnipresent, unchanging. He's all she can see when she looks ahead, by choice or by force she's not entirely sure, and sometimes it's a picture she loves and sometimes one she hates. Some days she looks forward to endless tomorrows with him— and then she resents him for ensuring that each one will be exactly the same: the two of them, always and forever, with no escape in sight. Her future is perfectly clear, sometimes appealing, sometimes not, always set for her, never to change. Hopeless.

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_Nothing is owned by me._


	8. Eternity

_I'm sure you'd all like to murder me right now. And that's okay; I totally understand. So to make it up to you, I will be posting at least three chapters today, and then at least one a day for the rest of this week. And then hopefully more regularly after that._

_Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the wonderful L.J. Smith (or whoever she's sold out to)._

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Of all the startling things about him, his eyes never cease to amaze her. Every time she sees them, they seem a slightly different shade, each more incredible than the last. She sees untold wonders in his eyes. She sees wild rainbows and glacial lakes and endless caverns rich with crystalline beauty. She sees iridescent feathers and untamed wilderness. She sees stampeding horses and white-sanded beaches, and she hungers for it all. She drinks in his every glance greedily, mind reeling. But at the end of the day, they're blue, and they're his, which is the greatest wonder of all.


	9. Beauty

In sunlight, her hair shimmers like honey, his like frost. Her lashes fall with amber slowness over cypress eyes, cloaking their deep olive beneath delicate golden lids. His own sooty lashes play shadows across bone-white cheeks, dipping down now and then to hide the cobalt glacier-flames of his irises. In moonlight, her hair gleams like daisy petals, his like new-fallen snow. Her eyes shine like chips of jade, moon-bright against her sun-caramelled skin. His glow vivid azure, icy and deep, twin arctic pools in his ash-pale face. Either way, they're each the most beautiful thing the other has ever seen.

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_Disclaimer: I own nothing, as always._


	10. Path

Sometimes she wonders: If she could go back and change any of it, would she? And it's hard to be sure, but most days she thinks no, she wouldn't. There's no calling it easy or painless or even altogether pleasant, but would she trade the journey if it mean losing the destination? And the tears may have been worth it in themselves, the anguish and anger driving forces behind her personal self-discovery. Not to mention the result: a silk-woven world of fluttery bliss, a life of breeze-light touches and honey-sweet kisses. A destination, she decides, well worth the choppy road.

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_I promised three, didn't I? Even though I'm not such a huge fan of this one. Better one coming tomorrow; it's all typed up. (:_

_Disclaimer: Seriously, I haven't even finished the third book. Not mine._


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